Pyramids

of the harbor, but it was generally agreed by mariners to be a very beautiful lighthouse and something to look at while they were waiting to be towed off the rocks.
    The harbor below it was thronged with ships. Teppic and Ptraci picked their way past crates and bundles until they reached the long curved guard wall, harbor calm on one side, choppy with waves on the other. Above them the lighthouse flared and sparked.
    Those boats would be going to places he’d only ever heard of, he knew. The Ephebians were great traders. He could go back to Ankh and get his diploma, and then the world would indeed be the mollusc of his choice and he had any amount of knives to open it with.
    Ptraci put her hand in his.
    And there’d be none of this marrying relatives business. The months in Djelibeybi already seemed like a dream, one of those circular dreams that you never quite seem able to shake off and which make insomnia an attractive prospect. Whereas here was a future, unrolling in front of him like a carpet.
    What a chap needed at a time like this was a sign, some sort of book of instructions. The trouble with life was that you didn’t get a chance to practice before doing it for real. You only—
    “Good grief? It’s Teppic, isn’t it?”
    The voice was addressing him from ankle height. A head appeared over the stone of the jetty, quickly followed by its body. An extremely richly dressed body, one on which no expense had been spared in the way of gems, furs, silks and laces, provided that all of them, every single one, was black.
    It was Chidder.

    “What’s it doing now?” said Ptaclusp.
    His son poked his head cautiously over the ruins of a pillar and watched Hat, the Vulture-Headed God.
    “It’s sniffing around,” he said. “I think it likes the statue. Honestly, dad, why did you have to go and buy a thing like that?”
    “It was in a job lot,” said Ptaclusp. “Anyway, I thought it would be a popular line.”
    “With who?”
    “Well, he likes it.”
    Ptaclusp IIb risked another squint at the angular monstrosity that was still hopping around the ruins.
    “Tell him he can have it if he goes away,” he suggested. “Tell him he can have it at cost.”
    Ptaclusp winced. “At a discount ,” he said. “A special cut rate for our supernatural customers.”
    He stared up at the sky. From their hiding place in the ruins of the construction camp, with the Great Pyramid still humming like a powerhouse behind them, they’d had an excellent view of the arrival of the gods. At first he’d viewed them with a certain amount of equanimity. Gods would be good customers, they always wanted temples and statues, he could deal directly, cut out the middle man.
    And then it had occurred to him that a god, when he was unhappy about the product, as it might be, maybe the plasterwork wasn’t exactly as per spec, or perhaps a corner of the temple was a bit low on account of unexpected quicksand, a god didn’t just come around demanding in a loud voice to see the manager. No. A god knew exactly where you were, and got to the point. Also, gods were notoriously bad payers. So were humans, of course, but they didn’t actually expect you to die before they settled the account.
    His gaze turned to his other son, a painted silhouette against the statue, his mouth a frozen O of astonishment, and Ptaclusp reached a decision.
    “I’ve just about had it with pyramids,” he said. “Remind me, lad. If we ever get out of here, no more pyramids. We’ve got set in our ways. Time to branch out, I reckon.”
    “That’s what I’ve been telling you for ages , dad!” said IIb. “I’ve told you, a couple of decent aqueducts will make a tremendous—”
    “Yes, yes, I remember,” said Ptaclusp. “Yes. Aqueducts. All those arches and things. Fine. Only I can’t remember where you said you have to put the coffin in.”
    “ Dad !”
    “Don’t mind me, lad. I think I’m going mad.”
    I couldn’t have seen a mummy and two men over there, carrying sledgehammers…

    It was, indeed, Chidder.
    And Chidder had a boat.
    Teppic knew that further along the coast the Seriph of Al-Khali lived in the fabulous palace of the Rhoxie, which was said to have been built in one night by a genie and was famed in myth and legend for its splendor. * The Unnamed was the Rhoxie afloat, but more so. Its designer had a gilt complex, and had tried every trick with gold paint, curly pillars and expensive drapes to make it look less like a ship and more